What is Expected of Stars
by ak-stinger
Summary: A prequel supplement to my What... series. Legolas is just a normal elfling in Mirkwood until two messengers from Rivendell give him a new title. One shot in two parts.
1. The dawn of the Sun

_Title_: What is Expected of Stars

_Author_: ak-stinger

_Rating_: K+

_Disclaimer_: I'm a woman in my mid-twenties - I don't even _look_ like J.R.R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson, who actually own The Lord of the Rings. Don't sue me; the only thing you'll get are my enormous student loan debts and I'll happily turn those over to whoever wants to pay them.

_Summary_: A supplement to What is Meant to Be, What Love Brought Into Being, and What Dreams Can Tell Us. This is about Legolas' childhood, how he came to be known as the Sun Star, and how he and his father dealt with it (a crappy summary, I know, but to the point).

_Warnings_: While it's not prevalent here, the entire series is **SLASH**. Some might also interpret some creepy undertones between the messengers and Legolas, but let me assure you that the way they feel about him is entirely chaste. There is also one **POSSIBLY OBJECTIONAL WORD**.

_Author's Notes_: As I mentioned before, this is a supplement to a series I've written. Since this story takes place before the action in the other stories you'll probably be fine if you read this without reading those (though I always welcome new readers to all of my stories). I'm terrible at gauging this type of thing, though, so be warned.

_Author's Notes, Part Two_: This was meant to be a one-shot, but it got too long; now it's a two-parter. I'll get the second half out in a week (possibly sooner).

_Reviews_: I welcome praise and constructive criticism; I will not, however, beg for those reviews or withhold the conclusion until I get a certain number of them. I appreciate those who take the time to read my story and review. I do not appreciate those who flame. If you find you don't like my story, please do us both a favor and hit the back button whenever you realize this. All that happens when you flame is I take a second to ponder how pathetic you are if the only way you can feel important is to insult strangers, another second to roll my eyes, and then I delete it from my e-mail. If it's within my power, I also remove the flame from my story's review history the next time I go to Just save the two of us some time and don't bother.

_Now I present…the story!_

It was only the middle of the morning and already Legolas Greenleaf was having a spectacular day. _'It's about time, too,'_ he thought resolutely as he dashed into his father's cavern palace one excellent morning. _'It's been downright awful around here for so long.'_

That wasn't exactly a fair evaluation; one would think that the prince of Mirkwood had been enduring plagues, famine, and sieges for months on end instead just having to put up with a slightly more distracted father for the last week or so. For Legolas, however, not having Thranduil's undivided attention at least a couple of times a day was not only unusual, it was miserable. The king had been sufficiently distracted with the coming of two messengers from Rivendell – enough so that he'd even allowed their special times together to be constantly (in the eyes of the young elfling) interrupted. Legolas scoffed under his breath; what could be so special about a couple of strangers? If something terrible was happening or about to happen, wouldn't Lord Elrond or even Mithrandir come themselves? The twins, Elladan and Elrohir, weren't even tagging along with the messengers, making the entire situation even more inexcusable to the elfling.

That morning, though, had been more like the ones that had come before Thranduil got so busy with the messenger nonsense. He'd requested that the cook make Legolas' absolute favorite breakfast, complete with some watermelon from storage even though it was out of season and therefore a very precious commodity. This had made the princeling a little nervous and he feared that his ada was just doing this to make up for the fact that he wouldn't be able to see him at all that day. The fear proved unfounded; not only had Thranduil joined him but he'd also made it clear that no one was supposed to disturb them unless an army of orcs, spiders, or the Enemy himself was attacking the realm. The time had been spent most pleasantly with father and son catching up on all that had been happening in each other's lives. Thranduil had even congratulated Legolas on the distance he'd gotten when he spit his watermelon seeds instead of scolding him.

Breakfast had been easily enough to make it the best day he'd ever have in his whole life (or so Legolas believed; he couldn't imagine how anything else could even compare with it), but it kept getting better and better over the course of the morning. After bidding his father goodbye Legolas had gone outside and had been pleased to find that the weather was just perfect for his archery lesson. Then at his lesson – one of his favorite parts of any day – he'd not only hit one of the most difficult bull's-eyes on the field but also _all_ of his bulls-eyes. His tutor had called it "astounding," which was more praise than most of his pupils got during their whole trainings. He'd felt it necessary to warn the prince not to get too 'cocky' – a word that that the elf had assumed that Legolas was familiar with – but then said that if Legolas continued to perform and improve at his current rate he would probably become one of the finest archers in the history of Mirkwood. This news excited the elfling to no end; since he was going to be the best warrior that Middle-earth had ever seen and being the best archer in Mirkwood would undoubtedly help him along to that goal.

Then had come a short break, followed by his sword-fighting lesson. Now this was usually where the day went downhill; Legolas considered that particular weapon to be too bulky and clumsy, unlike the beautiful white knives that he could twirl so easily despite his instructor's terrified insistence that he shouldn't do that, and not as efficient as his glorious arrows. It had been particularly difficult to concentrate that morning since he was still basking in the glow of the news that he was going to be the best archer ever. After several minutes of trying to get his pupil to stand still long enough to listen to instructions, the hapless elf had admitted defeat and excused the young princeling for the rest of the lesson. He'd said something about making up the time at their next session but both teacher and student had known that it was an empty promise – the poor instructor could barely handle a bored Legolas for the normal amount of time as it was.

The early dismissal had given Legolas the unexpected but certainly not unwelcome opportunity to go swimming and he gladly took it. In fact, he'd been so excited that he'd omitted going back to his chambers to get proper swimming attire or just stripping down to nothing and instead had run into the pleasantly cool water of a nearby river fully clothed. As he dove underwater for the umpteenth time to look for some shiny rocks that might make his father happy, he got to thinking about Thranduil and how his day might be going. They'd both had a wonderful breakfast, but Legolas had gotten to go outside and do archery and swim while his poor ada had to stay inside with two boring messengers from Rivendell who weren't the twins. At that moment the elf prince decided to go and fetch his father; after all, he _was_ the king – why shouldn't he be able to go swimming in the middle of the day with his son if he wanted to?

That was the reason why Legolas was racing through the corridors of the palace, following the familiar path to his father's closed study door, when a voice that came out of nowhere startled him more than pride would ever allow him to admit. "Prince Legolas!" scolded Galion, the king's butler.

"What?" asked Legolas impatiently and not at all politely. He _really_ didn't want to speak to Galion right now. Knowing the butler's stuffy nature, he was probably planning on telling him that his ada was very busy at the moment and it wouldn't be a good idea to interrupt him now. Galion wasn't the type of elf who knew how important having fun was. "I don't care about how important this secret message is supposed to be, or about secret meetings, or any of it! If any of this was so important, why isn't Lord Elrond here – can you explain that? No, Galion; all of this silliness has gone on long enough. My ada needs to have some fun in his life again and I'm going in there to make sure that he gets it!"

"You are dripping water everywhere," Galion informed him in a tone that might have been cold if it weren't for the touch of amusement in it. Secretly he shared the prince's point-of-view concerning the vitality of the message and the toll worrying about it had taken on the king but none of that changed the fact that the corridor had been mopped recently and now would need it again.

Oops. Legolas glanced down at the puddle around his feet and then down the path he'd just taken. Sure enough, there was a small stream that would have led back to the grass outside had anyone cared to follow it. "I'm sorry," apologized the elfling sheepishly. "I didn't mean to – you know I didn't mean to."

"You didn't decide to just jump in some water before coming in here, did you?" asked the butler in a long-suffering tone that made it clear that he wouldn't put such an act past the rambunctious prince.

"No," answered Legolas defensively before the memory of where he had come from made him look down and dig one toe into the floor. "I mean I guess I did, but not like that. It's just that I got to go swimming and I didn't have a towel or a blanket or anything with me."

"And it was impossible for you to return to the palace to retrieve any of these items?" pressed Galion doubtfully, cocking one eyebrow. "How did you find the time to go swimming _and _attend both your archery lesson and your sword lesson?"

"I didn't have to stay at my sword lesson the entire time," replied Legolas in a very important voice. "I was so good at my archery lesson – just ask! – that my sword instructor decided that I didn't need to learn anything more today."

Galion had the sneaking suspicion that the prince's _reaction_ to his splendid archery lesson was more the reason why his sword instructor gave up the good fight for today. He shuddered inwardly, not envying that poor elf's task at all. Still, he decided to let that part be in; there seemed to be something more pertinent to address. "So you decided to use your free time to go swimming," he noted.

Legolas nodded happily and Galion narrowed his eyes. "Alone?"

The elfling was wishing that that he'd never run into Galion now more than ever. Not only was the butler going to get him into trouble but he was also really sucking all of the enjoyment out of his day! "Yes," admitted Legolas begrudgingly. "But nothing happened –"

"This time," interrupted Galion sternly. "Your highness, you are getting older; too old, I must say, to make such foolish decisions and then try to excuse your inappropriate behavior. You know as well as I do that you are not permitted to go swimming without an adult or a responsible near-adult present. I am not going to stop you from seeing your father; quite the contrary, I think you should go in right now and tell him what you did."

Legolas scowled momentarily; then an idea popped into his head. He flashed Galion his most innocent smile. "Is now really a good time?" he asked sweetly. "Those messengers _did_ come all this way and he's got so many important things to do –"

"I'm sure he's bored witless by now and would welcome an interruption, especially from you," Galion told him in a voice that was light but left no room for protests. "Go on, my prince."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

As the messengers concluded their tale, Thranduil just stared at them in an emotionless way that made those who were unused to his presence extremely unnerved. "That is it?" he questioned, not bothering to hide his displeasure. "That was the vital message that had to remain a secret, the reason why I have been neglecting my child and my kingdom for a week? Now I understand why Elrond was reluctant to give me any information before you two arrived – I would not have granted you an audience for _this_."

The messengers winced at the extra disgust that the king added to the last word. "Lord Elrond was not trying to deceive you in any way," promised one of them in what he thought was a calm voice. "The entire situation, as I'm sure you can tell, is growing quite bleak. My lord fears for the future; he is terribly concerned."

"I have no doubt in my mind that he is," replied the elven king blithely. "I do not understand, however, why he felt the need to share all of his concerns with me. The line of Isildur and its survival is his pet project, not mine."

"This is not only about that bloodline!" protested the second messenger. "The future of Middle-earth is at stake. Whatever you may feel about the race of Men you cannot deny that their waning strength and growing fractures affects us all."

"Do not presume to know how I feel about Men," said Thranduil harshly. He'd long ago come to resent how most outsiders (and some of his own people) assumed that he blindly hated all Men just because he, unlike Elrond, was smart enough to keep them at arm's length. "And I do deny that their actions – or lack thereof, as the case appears to be – will have any impact on my realm. The last time the weakness of Men had any influence on life in Mirkwood was when Isildur made the sacrifice of my father and the majority of our forces vain."

The second messenger clenched his knuckles nervously. "One moment of weakness –"

"I can forgive one moment of weakness as long as the person is able to what needs to be done when it counts," countered Thranduil immediately before he had to hear yet another person excuse the inexcusable. "No; you can tell you lord that I do not care about any crisis that those of that particular line has faced, is facing, or will face in the future. Their trials will never have anything to do with me, my son, or my kingdom."

"Lord Elrond truly believes that all of the races of Middle-earth must look beyond the grievances of the past and unite against the hidden Shadow before the Enemy grows in power again," the first messenger informed him.

"I might be inclined to think that way as well if I had a ring of power at my disposal to defend my realm," said Thranduil. The messengers winced again, this time at his bluntness, but at the moment the king of Mirkwood was too annoyed to care that he was speaking about things that should never be mentioned aloud. How dare they enjoy the hospitality of his kingdom, waste his time on such a frivolous matter, and then talk down to him as if he were an insolent child when he rightly refused to offer Elrond any assistance in aiding the line of Isildur during their latest but obviously not last calamity? "But since I do not have the same luxury I must put all of my energies in defending my people and not worrying about a line that has long ago lost all of its honor."

The finality in his voice left no room for more arguments or reasoning but plenty for an uncomfortably long, awkward silence. All three were relieved to have it interrupted by a knock at the door. "Enter," Thranduil ordered as the messengers let out a loud simultaneous breath.

The door creaked open hesitantly, as if the person on the other side didn't want to be coming in at all. Thranduil was just about to order whoever it was to hurry if he or she intended to see the king when a sopping wet Legolas came in, sprinting to his father without sparing a glance for the guests. "Hi, Ada," greeted the elfling, jumping up onto Thranduil's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

"Greetings, ion nin," replied Thranduil. He was a little surprised at his son's sudden entrance – Galion usually kept everyone away when the king was conducting business, a matter that Thranduil had spoken to him about in the past when he grew worried that Legolas might think that he was rejecting him in some way. Of course, Legolas' current appearance wasn't helping him figure the situation out. "You are wet – as am I."

"Oops," said Legolas in a voice that was too bright for it to have been a total accident. "I'm sorry, Ada. I'll just come back later when we're both dry."

"That will not be necessary," the king told him suspiciously. Truth be told, this wasn't the first time that Thranduil's garments had ended up in a less-than-presentable state after being in Legolas' presence. However, in every other time his son had expressed bewilderment that he had to worry about such things at all and disappointment when Thranduil made them both clean up.

The fact that Legolas was backing down so quickly and easily might have been a mystery had it not been for Thranduil's fatherly instincts: the prince had done something wrong. Something so terrible, apparently, that Galion had thought it more important to send him in immediately to his father's punishment than to make him wait until the meeting was officially over. "I think you should tell me how you came to be in such a state, my Little Greenleaf," he urged.

"Well," Legolas bit his lower lip, desperately hoping for some inspiring excuse to delay the inevitable. "I had fun at breakfast, Ada. I miss you when you get too busy to spend time with me."

"I feel the exact same way," Thranduil assured him. He resisted throwing a withering glare at the messengers – Legolas needed his undivided attention at the moment. "Is that the reason why you are so wet?"

"No," said Legolas. "I just wanted to tell you about my day. It was a really, really good one. I went to my archery lesson after breakfast; and I hit the hardest of all the bulls-eyes. I'm going to be the best archer in all of Mirkwood, Ada – aren't you proud of me?"

"Of course I am, my Little Greenleaf," Thranduil assured him even though the idea of Legolas actually becoming an official archer and fighting in real battles made him sick to his stomach. "But I do not need an excuse to feel that way: I am always proud to be your father."

Legolas leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you, Ada," he said sweetly. "I did so good at archery that I didn't even have to stay at my silly sword lessons." That wasn't _entirely_ truthful, but the princeling figured that lying once over a minuet detail wouldn't be so terrible.

Thranduil reminded himself to give that unfortunate sword instructor a raise. "Legolas," he said, "please answer my question."

"It's nothing, really," insisted Legolas. "I got to go swimming because I had so much free time."

"That explains the water," Thranduil chuckled at how much Legolas took after him. Then he realized just what his son must have done wrong. "I hope you found an adult to accompany you."

The prince meekly shook his head. _"Legolas Thranduilion!"_ the older elf exploded.

"I'm sorry!" cried Legolas. He hated making his father unhappy! "I won't do it again, Ada – I promise!"

"No, you will not do it again or anything else like it," agreed Thranduil. "And to make sure of it, someone will watch over you wherever you go until I feel that you have demonstrated enough maturity that I can trust you again."

The elfling's face crumpled. Thranduil felt a twinge of guilt for making his beloved son so miserable but knew it was better that he was a little unhappy now and learn his lesson than to keep him happy no matter what and have him pay a steeper penalty later. "I am not doing this to be mean or because I enjoy it, Little Greenleaf," the king said as tears threatened to fall from Legolas' eyes. "You cannot do things like that. Do you not understand that my grief would kill me if I lost you? You are my life, Legolas."

"I'm sorry, Ada," sobbed Legolas, valiantly holding back the tears. He squeezed his father around the neck once more. "I never want to make you sad. I'll be a good boy from now on and forever."

"I am sure that you will," Thranduil told him lovingly, "to the best of your abilities, at any rate."

He embraced his son, rocking him back and forth a little, when something unusual caught his eye. The two messengers from Rivendell were staring – _goggling_, even – at them. "Yes, what is it?" asked Thranduil irritably. If there was one thing he disliked above anything else, it was having his time with Legolas disturbed, and this time it wasn't even for anything important. Really, was the sight of a father and son hugging so fascinating that it warranted such unfailing attention? He found it difficult to believe that Elrond had never behaved in a similar manner; and surely those mischievous twins had gotten into the same sort of trouble before!

"I – I apologize," stammered the second messenger while the first one continued to stare with his mouth agape. "I just never – he – who is this?"

"This is my son, Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood," answered Thranduil slowly, not sure if he wanted to tell them when they were behaving so oddly. The elfling snuggled closer to his ada and peered suspiciously at the two strangers.

"He's…_beautiful_," breathed the first, finding his voice at last.

"Thank you," said Thranduil as he twitched a bit. Their borderline arrogant behavior earlier was becoming more and more preferable to this absurd fit. Having to subject Legolas to it made it all the more intolerable.

The elven king sucked in a breath and tightened his hold on his son when the obviously insane messengers fell to their knees in front of them. "You don't understand, sire," said the second, sounding dazed. "All elves are beautiful in their own right, but the prince…. I've seen portraits of the maid Luthien and I can say without hesitation that Prince Legolas is just as stunning as she was."

"Except that her beauty reflected the glory of the evening while Prince Legolas is made of all that makes the morning lovely," added the first. He reached out and stroked the silken but soggy hair on one side of the elfling's head, apparently unaware of Legolas' disgustedly confused stare and the alarming way that Thranduil continued to tense. "Indeed, the glory of the sun's light has been captured in his hair, and his eyes are as blue as the clearest sky. It is truly a privilege to look upon you, most exquisite Prince Legolas."

Then he took one of Legolas' hands and kissed it.

Legolas turned his face toward the hand that was still stroking his hair and promptly bit it. "He kissed me like I was some girl!" he shrieked to his father, incredulous and clearly insulted, as the messenger jumped back with a yelp. "And the other one said that I was like a picture of Luthien. I'm going to be the best warrior that Mirkwood has ever had, not some girl in a picture. They called me a _girl_, Ada!"

Thranduil leapt to his feet with his furious child still in his arms and didn't feel the least bit sorry when the two messengers were knocked backwards by the sudden movement. "I do not know what is considered to be appropriate in Rivendell," he seethed, "but in my realm it is not permitted for virtual strangers to touch and kiss an elfling without the permission of said elfling and their parents! You two are a disgrace to your lord and he will be hearing about this damnable behavior. Galion!"

The door opened almost immediately and the butler stuck his head inside. "Did – did Prince Legolas tell you what he did?" he asked uncertainly as he surveyed the strange scene before him.

"Yes, because he is a good boy," snapped Thranduil. He struggled to compose himself when he saw the taken aback expression on the loyal Galion's face. "I apologize; and thank you for having Legolas confess to me about the swimming. You are not the reason why I am so enraged. Those two" – he gestured with his head at the two ninnies on the floor who didn't have the good sense to stop staring at his son – "have delivered their lord's unimportant message and have my reply. They have also upset the prince and angered me. See to it that they leave Mirkwood as soon as they can be made ready – we no longer welcome their presence."

The king gave them one last fierce look before turning and stomping out of the room. Still the messengers were undeterred – not even Legolas scowling and sticking his tongue out at them as his father carried him away discouraged their awed stares or marred his beauty in their minds. That didn't matter to Thranduil at the time being; Mirkwood guards would see to it that they would leave them alone. All he had to worry about was getting to Legolas' bedchamber, where sanctuary and dry clothing awaited the elfling.

"I still can't believe that they called me a girl," huffed Legolas indignantly on the way. "And all that stuff about sunlight and the sky – what a bunch of hooey!"

Thranduil remained silent. While he found both of their behavior deplorable, he couldn't argue with the Rivendell messenger's descriptions of his son's looks. Perhaps he and the people of Mirkwood were more used to his striking beauty than outsiders who hadn't seen him grow up – not that any of that excused them.

"I didn't like them, Ada," Legolas continued to complain. "Why couldn't Elladan and Elrohir have come instead of two?"

"I would have preferred the twins' company as well," said Thranduil, though the mere mention of the last time that the sons of Elrond visited sill made Galion break out in nervous laughter before crying. "But do not think about those messengers anymore, my Little Greenleaf; they will be gone before the day is over and the two of us will be able to get back to our normal lives."

To be concluded…


	2. The resistance of the Sun

Very few people in the palace – or in Mirkwood itself – were accustomed to being awake so early in the morning. Besides the occasional person who found sleep elusive, the only elves who were conscious at that hour were the diligent but weary guards who'd been assigned night duty and the palace cook who was in the kitchen preparing to make breakfast for the king and prince. On that particular morning, however, the prince himself was not only awake but dressed and out of his bedchamber.

As quietly as he could, the young elfling crept through the corridors. Seeking out concealing shadows and items along the way that he could easily hide behind Legolas made his way closer and closer to the main door that lead outside. That strategy served him well until he heard two sets of approaching footsteps – guards on their regular patrol, he guessed – completely out in the open. With no other option available he pulled open the door to the closest room, shutting it quietly and praying that the guards were too tired to notice whatever noise was made. _'They can't find me yet,'_ Legolas thought, determined and desperate. _'If I get caught, everyone will just keep a closer eye on me and I'll never have this chance again. I'll have to spend the rest of my life in _– here –_ this stupid throne room.'_

He glared disdainfully around the room as he waited for it to be safe to leave again. For the most part it looked just as it always had for as long as he could remember: a lush, green carpet on the floor that led up to his father's ridiculously (in Legolas' opinion) ornate, jewel-encrusted throne. Thranduil's staff lay, as it ever had been when he wasn't holding it, carefully across the throne. A smaller, less adorned – but still too fancy for Legolas' taste – throne sat next to the king's and the elfling knew from unpleasant experience that it wasn't very comfortable. The floor all around was not shiny – few cavern floors were – but it was clean. For years Legolas had resented the room for carrying with it the memories of stuffy, complicated ceremonies that no one particularly liked doing but everyone felt was important; for reminding him of all the times he had to wear fancy and constricting garments with a circlet of mithril that made his forehead itch when he wore it for too long.

If only that was the only way he had to feel about it now! Legolas turned his baneful gaze at the latest and most hateful addition to the throne room: a stool that stood in the corner. It was simple, made of wood and little else, and looked out of place there, as if someone had brought it in there and forgotten it once its use had passed. Under different circumstances, the young prince might have actually _liked_ having it in there just because it looked so unassuming – a touch of simplicity in a room that had precious little of it. He hated it, though, and precisely because it's used _hadn't_ passed.

Oh yes; the only thing that Legolas hated more than that stool was the reason that he was forced to sit on it for long periods of time several days a week. Scowling, he once again sent every curse that he knew and several that he made up to those two messengers from Rivendell for destroying his life. Why did Lord Elrond, who was usually so wise, have to send them to Mirkwood in the first place? Why did they have to see him? Why did they have to think that he was so beautiful that it was worth making idiots out of themselves and embarrassing their home? Most importantly, why did they feel the need to tell others about the supposedly breathtaking princeling of Thranduil's realm?

It was because of them that he'd only gotten a few more months of normalcy, between when his father expelled them from the kingdom and when – _they_ – started coming.

_Flashback_

_In Thranduil's study, Legolas sat on his father's lap and peered in amazement at the book that was lying open on the desk. "I always knew that my grandsire was brave," he said, sounding awed, "but this! I would have been so scared just to be going to fight before the Black Gates, let alone leading an army!"_

"_I did not say that my adar was not afraid," Thranduil told his son in a saddened voice. "A person is not courageous simply because he feels no fear – in fact, that is almost the opposite of bravery because it requires nothing of the person. Those who are truly brave may be frightened but they do what they must do anyway."_

"_You were there as well, weren't you Ada?" asked Legolas, though he already knew the answer. "I hope that I'll be just as brave when my time comes."_

_Thranduil hoped that the elfling didn't notice the shudder that ran through his body. "I'm sure that you will be as valiant as you need to be," he swallowed. "Now, do you remember what happened during the battle of the Last Alliance?"_

"_Lots of people died," answered Legolas. He hugged his father tightly, wondering how close he'd been to dying that day alongside his grandsire. "Isildur managed to cut the Ring off of the Enemy's finger and then didn't destroy it."_

"_And what happened because of it?" prompted the elven king.'_

"_The Shadow has been allowed to endure and Isildur betrayed the memory of those who died there and those who fought and lived." Legolas frowned. "Ada, are all Men as bad as Isildur was?"_

_His father stared at him a long time before opening his mouth and sighing. "Isildur was not bad," he said begrudgingly, "not in the way that the Enemy is, at any rate. He just suffered from follies that all Men have – he was so proud that he thought he could tame the Ring, so stubborn that he refused to believe the counsel of those who were wiser than he, and so lustful for power that he chose to only care about himself. Men have their uses, more so than dwarves, but it is best not to depend solely on their strengths for they have none. It is better, my Little Greenleaf, for Men and elves to leave each other to their own fates."_

"_It's sad that we can't trust them," said Legolas, deep in thought. "But what about Beren? Luthien loved him so much that she was willing to become mortal for him. Was that the wrong choice for her?"_

_Thranduil closed his eyes momentarily. "Well –"_

"_Sire!" A pounding on the door, accompanied by Galion's frantic voice interrupted him before he could give a proper answer. **"Sire!"**_

"_Come in before you break the door!" admonished the king. Galion obeyed immediately, slamming the door behind him as if an army of balrogs were gathered on the other side of it. "Why are you behaving so strangely? What is this all about?"_

"_King Thranduil," said the butler in a formal but hasty tone, "I'm afraid that you need to come to the throne room at once. Some…people are awaiting an audience."_

"_Can this not wait?" demanded Thranduil, perturbed._

_Galion shook his head. "I'm afraid that they'll come looking if you don't deal with them soon."_

"_Very well," growled the king. He bent over and kissed Legolas' temple. "My Little Greenleaf –"_

"- _Should stay here," insisted Galion nervously, glancing behind him as if he could see through the door. "I already gathered a couple of guards to make sure that he remains safe and sound."_

"_Is that necessary?" Thranduil asked, growing more and more concerned. When his butler nodded, he bit his lower lip. "I need you to stay here like the good boy that you promised to be forever, my Little Greenleaf. I will be back as soon as possible."_

"_All right, Ada."_

_Giving his son one last kiss and long look, Thranduil opened the door and left the study, followed closely by Galion. The other elf closed it securely behind them and two guards immediately moved in place to block any entrance or exit. "Galion, what is going on?" he demanded. "Who is waiting to see me?"_

"_Elves – from Rivendell, from Lothlorien, from all over," answered Galion, gesturing wildly. "And they have not come to see you; they are insisting on seeing Prince Legolas."_

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

_Thranduil barely had the time to sit down on his throne before the crowd of unfamiliar elves swarmed around. "If you do not want me to order my guards to subdue you right now," he warned fiercely, thinking of how scared Legolas might be if he had to deal with all of them behaving like this, "you will take a step back and behave with a little decorum."_

_After a moment of pause, they obeyed – to the barest minimum. The king guessed that was the most he could hope for until their strange fits had passed. "Now tell me what is so important that you feel as if you have the right to come into my realm uninvited and make demands?"_

"_We must see for ourselves if the rumors are true," replied one near the front of the crowd, sounding as if he were dying of thirst and begging for a sip of water._

"_And what rumors are you referring to?" inquired Thranduil coldly, unused to dealing with so many outsiders at once and unwilling to make them feel at all welcome._

"_Two from my dwelling returned from a recent visit to Mirkwood with the most remarkable tale," the spokesperson answered eagerly – 'almost entranced' would be the way that the elven king would describe them many years later in stories that he would tell his grandchildren. "That here lives an elfling whose beauty rivals even that of Luthien."_

_Thranduil let loose a put-upon groan. "Do those two morons know nothing of diplomacy and discretion?" he complained. Such a complaint in front of that particular audience might have gone unvoiced had it belonged to another person but Thranduil treasured bluntness and felt it was more important to drive his point home than to be as gentle as possible. "They were referring to my child, Prince Legolas Thranduilion. I myself think that he is exceedingly lovely; then again, I am his father and so cannot be trusted to judge such a thing in an unbiased manner. If you feel the need to verify this for yourselves, I will be…tolerant about showing you a portrait of him."_

"_No! Please, sire, we wish to see _him_," pleaded the spokesperson._

"_What can you accomplish by gawking at my child that you cannot accomplish simply by gawking at his picture?" asked Thranduil irritably. He discreetly sucked in a breath and prepared to call for the guards._

"_We've written songs to honor and delight him, ones that we would be most happy to present him with ourselves," the other elf answered. A wistful yet hopeful expression came to his face. "The time of the elves will be over with by the end of this age. To think that the Valar would bless our peoples in these waning years with one that reflects our days of glory…it makes us think that perhaps not all of what we put into this Middle-earth will be forgotten after we are."_

_There were times that Thranduil really wished that he wasn't a king and this was one of them. Had he been only an ordinary citizen he could have thrown them out of his home without so much as a peep at his son and not received any blame for it. As one of the last few rulers in the world of elves, though, he bore an unpleasant responsibility to offer people – even if they weren't citizens of Mirkwood per say – hope in whatever form possible. Legolas, he knew, had a similar responsibility as a prince and the king refused to teach his son that it was all right to run away from any responsibility that was going to be at all unpleasant. There would have to be rules of course, and several people ensuring Legolas' safety, but as long as all these troubadours wanted was to sing to his son he couldn't find a reason not to let them to; none, at least, that would allow him to sleep at night knowing that he did everything in his power to offer comfort to his kind during their fading years._

_And so that afternoon Legolas was subjected to the first of many, _many_, troubadour sessions. Thranduil ordered that a stool be brought for the prince to sit on; rather than have Legolas sit on a throne where he could possibly be trapped, the king felt better knowing that he could grab his son at a moment's notice from any angle and run. Then, under the watchful eyes of his father and more guards than were necessary, Legolas sat there and listened to twelve complete strangers sing things that were supposedly about him._

_End flashback_

Legolas had to clap his hands over his mouth to keep a sarcastic laugh from escaping. About him! As an elfling and the son of the straightforward Thranduil he had little appreciation for metaphors, especially ones that he had to listen to over and over again. Ones that went on seemingly forever when all they really meant to say was that he was pretty. So the elfling had blue eyes – as did the troubadours; he couldn't understand why they were acting as if they'd never seen anything like them before – and sunny blonde hair. Who cared?

Unfortunately they did, and each and every elf that came after them. Many days a week they prattled on about the same things while keeping Legolas cooped up inside when he could have been playing outdoors. Worst of all, though, was the nickname "The Sun Star." One of the slightly more creative troubadours had come up with that one and it stuck. There seemed to be a general consensus that it was only fitting, seeing that Luthien was a "star" herself and he was just like her, blah, blah, blah.

Legolas thought that he'd never heard anything more horrible and silly in his life. The sun that the world already had was beautiful enough and even if the people wanted another one he was sure that he couldn't compare to the original star. But no one ever bothered to ask Legolas what he thought about it.

But that wasn't going to matter in a few minutes. Legolas grinned with naughty glee as he managed to hurry quietly through the rest of the palace and slip unnoticed outside. He had a plan and it was a good one too. His appearance wasn't going to be so sunny after he was through.

'_It rained last night,'_ he noticed with childish satisfaction as he dashed to a cluster of berry bushes that weren't too far away from the main door of the palace. _'That must mean that Elbereth is helping me with my plan.'_

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"Good morning, sire," greeted Galion as Thranduil descended the stairs that led to and from the royal quarters.

"Good morning, Galion," replied Thranduil. His eyes darted all around, surveying the butler's surroundings, and frowned. "Where is Legolas? Please tell me that you did not leave him in the care of the kitchen staff. You know that they are apparently incapable of saying no to him! He always comes from there full of sugar-induced energy and the last time he 'helped' them prepare the food we ended up with a generous serving of salt in our pancakes –"

"My king," interrupted Galion. Thranduil gave him a censoring look. "I apologize for my breech of decorum, sire, but I haven't seen the prince all morning. In fact, I was about to ask if he was still sleeping."

"No; I just went to his bedchamber to wake him and he was not there!" cried Thranduil, his panic rising. He hadn't been terribly concerned to find his son's bed empty; it wouldn't have been the first time that Legolas had beaten him to breakfast. But he knew that Legolas would either head straight for the kitchen or dining room in that case and if Galion hadn't seen him at all during his normal rounds…. "Where could he have gone?"

"Perhaps he went to the library," suggested Galion hopefully. "Or to the weapons room – it's been a while since he's tried to break in there. Don't worry, your majesty – I'll gather the guards and everyone will scour every nook and cranny in the palace."

Before they could even take one step, however, one of the guards came running to them. He stopped short when he saw Thranduil and bowed quickly. "My king," he said. "There has been a breach in security."

Thranduil's stomach sank. "What sort of breach?"

"The main doors; one of them was just found slightly opened –"

The elven king didn't even bother to listen to the rest. The front door had been opened without the guards' knowledge or his permission – his son had vanished from his bed – and the palace had been crawling with strangers lately, all of whom wanted an audience with Legolas. What if one of them was so dissatisfied with the brief time he'd seen the prince that he'd snatched the prince in his sleep? What if Legolas had gotten so unhappy with being forced to listen to songs when he wanted to play that he'd decided to run away? In either scenario there was a good possibility that the elfling was in grave danger and that Thranduil had lost him forever. _'Just like I lost his mother and my ada…'_

"_Legolas!"_ he screamed frantically as soon as he was outside. Maybe he was still in the area, too close to the elvish settlement for the spiders to brave trying to ensnare him in the sunlight. Maybe he could break away from his captors long enough to scream a reply and give Thranduil an idea of which direction they'd gone in. Praying to whoever felt inclined to answer, Thranduil tried again: _"Legolas!"_

The forest itself seemed to hold its breath for an eternal moment before a cheerful sing-song voice rang out from not too far away: "Ada!"

Thank Elbereth – the Valar – Eru – whoever was responsible. "Legolas!' cried Thranduil once more, choking on his relief as he ran toward the place where that wonderful voice seemed to be coming from. "Ion nin! My sweet, perfect Little Greenleaf! Oh, I was so…"

His voice trailed off when he finally caught sight of Legolas sprawled out on the ground. "Hi Ada," chimed Legolas brightly, smiling widely as he moved his arms and legs. It looked like he was making a snow angel – in a decidedly less white substance. "I did it! I'm not sunny anymore!"

"No – no you are not," Thranduil managed to get out.

"I couldn't do anything about my eyes," Legolas confided merrily, "but this should be enough to make all of those strangers go away, right?"

Thranduil stared wordlessly at his son. Legolas' shining blue eyes seemed to stand out more prominently than usual and his smile appeared stark white, but that was only because every stitch of his garments and most of his skin were brown. Mud brown – what Legolas was wallowing in. Any part of his skin that wasn't brown – namely the upper parts of his fingers and the right along his hairline – weren't flesh-colored either. They were berry red – _the same color as his hair_.

The scent of berry juice filled the air as Legolas leapt to his feet and did a victory dance. "No more songs," he chirped cheerfully, spinning around. "No more Sun Star!"

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"_Ada!"_ shrieked Legolas unhappily about an hour later as Thranduil dumped yet another enormous bowl of water over his head. Forty-five minutes of intensive scrubbing had reduced the red in his hair from bright and blinding to a few shades stronger than strawberry blonde but it was going to take a least another hour of the same thing before the elfling's hair would resemble anything close to normal. "I want to play! I don't want to be in the tub anymore – please, please let me get out!"

"You may get out of the bathtub," permitted Thranduil. Legolas didn't need to be told twice; he scurried out of the water and made a move toward the door. His father grabbed his arm before he could make his escape, though. "I am only allowing you to get out because the water is brown, Legolas; once it has been drained and replace you are going right back in."

"But the mud's all gone!"

"But _this_ is not," countered Thranduil, running a hand over Legolas' reprehensible still-red locks. He was less than pleased that the berry stain was proving to be just as stubborn as the elfling who'd put it there in the first place. Many parents might have given up for the time being but not the elven king; the most powerful kinds of grief and peril hadn't conquered him when they had the chance and he wasn't about to concede defeat to a makeshift hair dye of all things.

"I want it to stay red," protested Legolas with a whine. "So I don't have to be the stupid Sun Star anymore."

Thranduil sighed in a long-suffering tone. "We have spoken about this," he said with as much patience as he could muster at the moment. "I know that there are other things that you would rather be doing. There are times when I have to do something when I would rather be doing something else, but I – and you – have responsibilities to the world of elves that go beyond what others have."

Legolas glowered at him. "You just want me to keep being the Sun Star, don't you?" he accused, feeling quite betrayed. His father was supposed to be on his side! "You want to show me off like I was one of those stupid jewels of yours. That's why you won't let me play – you're mad that I tried to make that go away!"

"I am angry," replied Thranduil through clenched teeth, "because you went outside without letting someone know about it. There are spiders and strangers about – I thought that you had been kidnapped or had run away! Do you know how that made me feel?" He forced himself to relax. "You have a duty, ion nin, and you must do it."

"Why don't you do it?" grumbled Legolas, pouting. Impulsively, he reached down and splashed his father with the muddy bathwater.

He regretted it immediately; not so much because he felt bad about his behavior but because of the look that came to Thranduil's face. The older elf had never looked so angry at Legolas in his entire life. "Legolas," Thranduil practically growled.

A knock on the door probably stopped them both from doing and saying anything more that they would regret. "I'm sorry to intrude," called a jovial voice on the other side. "I was told that this might not be a good time, but you know me: that's never stopped me before."

"Mithrandir," called Thranduil in a tense voice, his hand fisted tightly in his lap in order to control the shaking.

The door opened and indeed it was the wandering grey wizard. "I've been hearing all sorts of talk about young Legolas causing quite a stir," he explained with a smile. "I decided to see for myself what was going on." He took a long pause to give the elfling an appraising look. "My lad, you look just like a dwarf."

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," bristled Thranduil.

The old wizard's eyes twinkled. "You might some day."

"I doubt that highly," replied Thranduil tightly. He glanced down at his damp robe and sighed. "Mithrandir, would you mind keeping an eye on Legolas for a few minutes? I find that I am in the need to change into some drier garments."

"Of course, of course," agreed Mithrandir amiably. After silently watching the king leave without so much as looking at his beloved son, the old wizard turned to Legolas. "And what was that all about, young Greenleaf?"

"Ada hates me now," Legolas told him, sounding truly devastated. "I snuck out, got all dirty and stained my hair, and didn't do what princes are supposed to do. Oh Mithrandir, we argued and I got mad and I splashed him and now he hates me!"

"Now that's just the silliest thing that I've ever heard, and believe me I've heard many silly things," chided Mithrandir gently, sitting down next to the distraught elfling and resting a comforting arm around his shoulders. "You must apologize, of course, but only because he is angry at you for doing something you shouldn't have done. Your father may not like every decision you make; you may do things that make him _extremely_ unhappy; but he will never stop loving you. An argument and a little bit of muddy water isn't nearly enough to change that."

"This is all those troubadours' fault!" lamented Legolas angrily, relieved to finally have someone to let all of his frustrations out to. "Ada and I were just fine before they came. I don't want to be their Sun Star, Mithrandir! Can't _you_ make them leave us alone?"

Mithrandir smoothed the prince's red hair. "My lad, do you remember when you just started training with your bow?"

"Yes."

"It hurt, didn't it? It made your arms and chest terribly sore and you couldn't even hit the bulls-eyes back then."

Legolas wrinkled his brow. "What does that have to do with this?"

"Well, you had to go through a lot of unpleasantness then, but would you really rather have not experienced that if it meant that you wouldn't have become quite a good archer?" Mithrandir didn't need a response to know the answer. "I cannot yet see how this will affect your future, but I do have the feeling that something good will come out of it all if you have the patience to endure this bad time.

"What good could possibly come from this?" demanded Legolas

"Perhaps you will find love with one of your troubadours," the wizard suggested. "One day one of them might sing a song or read a poem that will inspire you to give them your heart."

"My heart already belongs to my ada!" responded Legolas. "And even if someone else was going to get it, it wouldn't be one of them. They're all so long-winded! I'll never fall in love with anyone like them – in fact, it would have to be someone complete _unlike_ the whole lot of them! A person who knows that a simple 'you're pretty' is better than any of those songs."

A strange feeling passed over feeling passed over Mithrandir; but before he had time to grasp and examine it Thranduil returned. Legolas wasted no time running to his father. "I'm sorry I was bad, Ada," he apologized profusely. A few tears escaped from his eyes. "It's just that I don't like this."

"Oh, my Little Greenleaf," Thranduil crooned as his anger diminished. He scooped up his son and hugged him tightly. "I know that; and I do not like it either. Believe me, if I thought that turning your hair red would make them go away I would have done it months ago! But you give the people who come here hope for the future and I am afraid that as a prince - and a Star - you have the responsibility to keep doing that."

He smiled compassionately at his son. "It will take a while for the bathwater to be replaced," he said. "I have time to eat some breakfast as we wait. Do you care to join us, Mithrandir?"

"Certainly," replied Mithrandir. As he followed father and son to the dining room, the wizard stared thoughtfully at Legolas. Whatever the elfling's future might hold, he couldn't shake the feeling that the newly anointed Sun Star would have something to do with his grand task before it was over. A strange shudder went through him as they passed by some displayed relics of the Last Alliance and Mithrandir vowed to keep an unobtrusive but close watch on Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood.

The end.

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read this, especially to those of you who took the time (or are about to take the time) to review._

_A/N, part 2: I don't know how canonically correct it is to have Mithrandir there during that point in Legolas' life, but this is an AU series and I don't care._ :)


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